"Дон Пендлтон. Chicago Wipe-Out ("Палач" #8) " - читать интересную книгу автораLavallo and Aurielli, not if he can't show up on time for the first haul!"
The choked voice replied, "He's leased fifty trucks for that job, Mr. Lavallo. I don't believe we could just arbitrarily terminate his contract, especially if an act of God is the cause of his delay." "Arbitrary, who the hell said anything about arbitrary? You tell that guy the contract is tore up, and if he wants an act of God, ask him what he thinks about a spanner wrench against the side of the head. I ain't holding still for no smart-ass out-of-town hauler that thinks he can walk all over L & A. And the same goes for a smart-ass dispatcher that talks about arbitrary stuff. Don't you forget that." "Yes sir. I'll tell him to run his fifty leased trucks up his ass, Mr. Lavallo." "You do that!" Lavallo punched off the connection and settled into his chair, puffing with anger. The side door opened and Rudy Palmer stood there stiffly framed in the rectangle of light. "The convoy is downstairs, Pete," he announced quietly. "Let's go home." "Go on down," Lavallo said. "I gotta take a piss, then I'll be right with you. Did anybody tell Mrs. Aurielli about Louis?" "We're trying to locate her," Palmer replied woodenly. "She's usually in Nassau this time of year." "If you don't find her there, try that hotel at St. Thomas. She likes it there, too. Go on, Rudy. I'll be right down." Palmer backed out and closed the door. Lavallo smiled wryly to himself and picked up the telephone. A moment later he got his connection and told one of my subcontractors has crapped out on me. You know what I was saying last week about something big for your campaign fund." A clipped voice rattled back a brisk response. Lavallo grinned and said, "Yeah, well that was a drop in the bucket, I don't even count that. I meant something big . That, uh, kid of yours - John Junior, is it? Listen, I know where he can pick up long-term leases on fifty heavy haulers at a fraction of the regular cost." A delighted response rattled the receiver. The Lavallo grin widened. He said, "Sure, it's the cheapest way I know to get into the trucking business. Listen, you send John Junior around in the morning, eh? We'll see what we can come up with." Another rattle, then: "Oh, hell, don't mention it, John. What are friends for if they can't look out for each other, eh?" Lavallo hung up and studied his fingertips with a smug smile. One man's ruin always meant another man's gain. And what the hell could the punk from Rockford possibly mean to Pete Lavallo? He got into his overcoat and again checked the load in the .45 and dropped it into a coat pocket, took a quick look about the office, and went out. He thought again of Aurielli and knew that he would not accept the fact of Lou's death until he saw him lying there in his coffin, all done up for planting. Meanwhile hie had to go on. Business details had to be kept tidy. He touched the grip of the .45 - and yeah, hie had to go on. Quickly he descended the stairway. The small office building was quiet and deserted. It mildly irked Lavallo the way the hired help all got up and |
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